


Until We Say Goodbye on Our Dying Day

by Posher10



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Posher10/pseuds/Posher10
Summary: The day Faramir was born forged a bond that could never be broken with his brother Boromir. Follow their lives as the elder son protects the younger, and he returns the favor. Read of their adventures that they have as Captains of Gondor, as well as what Faramir is doing when Boromir is with the Fellowship. Watch scenes in which Boromir tells others about his brother and how Faramir reacts to his brother's death. But Boromir's not. He's alive and fighting to return to Minas Tirith and the Fellowship. See their reunion and what they do with the rest of their lives. (It basically just follows the story of the two sons of Denethor. Be prepared with angst mixed with weird bits of hilarity.) THIS IS AN AU. (Obviously. I mean, Boromir's alive.)(The title is from the song 'Brother' by *Kodaline*)





	1. The Birth of the Second Son

**Author's Note:**

> The Boromir chapters are all written by WegonCalmacil  
> The Faramir chapters are all written by Posher10
> 
> (This does not, in any way, belong to us. The world and characters all belong to Tolkien. We only own Kel and the rest of the OCs.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Minas Tirith, the 5 of Cerveth, in the year 2983 of the Third Age.

The night has been unbelievably hot, and even though the sun was little past its rising point, it was already proving to be an even more unbelievably hot day. Yet the heat pouring down from the sky did nothing to dissuade the people of Minas Tirith from starting their days. Already Servants were rushing about in the Sixth Circle, just like the men, women, and children of the First, Second and Third Circles prepared themselves for the workday. But even the Citadel itself was busier than usual, for it was on this morning that the Lady Finduilas, wife of Steward Denethor II was to bear her second child.

Boromir, Denethor and Finduilas' young son, and already the pride of the whole of Gondor, sat outside his parent's chamber. He was leaning sleepily against his aunt Rosset, the wife of his mother's younger brother Imrahil. Boromir had been roused by a servant shortly before dawn, with the news that his mother was in labor, and that he was expected to attend. 

Boromir had hurried to get ready for the long-awaited arrival of his new sibling. He was eager for the new baby, brother or sister. 'A brother would be nice,' he thought. 'then I might have someone to play with when I am older. Although a sister would not be a bad thing, a girl I could protect from harm.' Boromir was startled out of his thoughts by a scream for within his parents’ room.

"Why is it taking so long!?" His uncle Imrahil exclaimed. He had been pacing up and down the hall for the last several hours. Unable to stand still while his sister was fighting to bring a new life into the world. "It was never this long with Boromir, that was only a few short hours! Not this madness!" Another scream from Finduilas resonated through the Citadel.

"Sit down. Imrahil," his aunt said. "You are only tiring yourself out, and unless my memory fails me, you were told by the healers to stay off that leg as much as possible until it was healed." Rosset's voice was calm, but there was a trimmer in her words, and she had placed a hand on her own belly.

Boromir looked up at his uncle, "What was my birth like?" He asked. He had heard the story for his mother, but never from anyone else. He wondered how much different his arrival into the world had been, for that of the sibling that was now on its way.

"Well," his uncle said, sitting down at last. "You were born in Dol Amroth, not here in Minas Tirith. That was the way your mother wanted it. She had come to stay for a few mounts, just as was planned. But right around the time you where expect, there was an attack on the city by the Corsairs of Umbar." Imrahil smiled at the memory. "I will never forget returning from the battle on the walls, and being asked by father, your grandfather Adrahil; how I liked not being the youngest member of the family. I must admit I was a bit started, and I asked what he meant. So he told me you had been born well I was out battling Corsairs on the walls! So then I ran to go find your mother, and when I did-"

Boromir introduced: "Mother says you had so much blood on you that she thought you were going to die." 

Imrahil raised an eyebrow, "Did she, I don't know about that. In any case, I found your mother in her room. She was sitting up in bed, and she looked more tired than I had ever seen her look before. But there was a light about her, she looked tired yes, but also happy. I think that in that moment, she was the happiest woman on the earth." Imrahil's voice was full of emotion, as he continued. Boromir leaned forward, although his uncle had not lowered his voice.

"Fin, your mother put you in my arms... I don't know what to do, I looked at her and said, "What if I break it?" She looked at me, and then she said: "It is a him, and if you break my son, I will kill you, and let orcs eat your body!" I didn't know if she was joking or not, but now that I think back on it, I believe that she was not." His uncle shifted his weight back against the wall, and sighed, "So that Pîn Maethor (little warrior), is how you came into the world." 

Boromir opened his mouth to thank his uncle for the story but was interrupted by an agonized scream. The cry was one of such pain and sorrow, that Boromir was shocked it could be made by a human. Just after, or even before the cry had faded into silence, another came. The second cry was that of a new life coming into the world, the cry of a baby.

Unable to remain seated after such a cry, especially one from his sister, Imrahil opened the door that led to Boromir's parents’ room and entered. Boromir followed his uncle; he was badly frightened, but he knew that his parents would what him. 'I must be brave now,' he thought. 'Just like Mother is always telling me.' The room was hot, even hotter than the hallway, the salty smell of sweat, mixed with the copper of blood filled the room. It was like nothing Boromir had ever see before. 

His mother, Lady Finduilas lay on the bed, her long black hair speed around her. She was wearing only a light shirt, which was already covered in blood. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and moisture covered her face. It looked as though she had been dunked in a lake, and then pulled out without being allowed to dry off.

His father was at her side, gently holding her hand. Boromir was also aware of his aunt Ivriniel, his mother's sister, she was holding a small bundle that Boromir guessed was his new sibling. But to him, the room was comprised of just his mother and father...  
"Denethor," His mother's voice was barely audible, "Promise me you will look after our children; promise me you will love them enough for the both of us." She looked at him with pleading gray eyes. "Promise me you will be a good father for both of them." 

"Finduilas" Father's voice was begging, "You can't die, not now, not when I need you so much, not when our children need you." Denethor was crying as he held his wife's hand. Boromir felt wetness on his cheeks and realized that he was also crying. "Mother" He whispered, his voice so low he could barely hear himself. "Mother, no." But it was too late for Finduilas to hear him, she gave a small sigh and then relaxed.

Boromir had not been exposed to death before, but he did know that his mother was gone and that he would not see her again while still on earth. He never remembered starting to sob, but he did remember that it was the steady hands of his aunt Rosset that guided him back to his own room. The last thing Boromir remembered before the door closed, was watching the light fade in his father's eyes.


	2. When You're in the Trenches (Chapter Title from 'Brother' by *Kodaline*)

Minas Tirith, the 7 of Lothron, in the year 2989 of the Third Age

A young boy of six pushed his way through the thick crowd, running underfoot. Most did not notice him, as he weaved through their legs as only one who had grown up in Minas Tirith could. 

The boy did not look special. His hair was raven and fell to the back of his neck in a messy bob, as was a usual style of Gondorlorien men. His eyes were grey and intelligence, taking in every detail around in an instant, crouching and ducking around arms and parcels. His skin tone was strange, being neither tan nor pale. His frame was lithe and skinny, unlike most boys his age, and his clothes almost hung off his frame. 

But even though he did not look it, this boy was special. This boy was Faramir, Second Son of Denethor II and the late Lady Findulias. Right now, though, he didn’t feel like that. He felt like a disappointment.

He slid like a snake through the limbs and took a left into a dark alleyway. About half-way to the other side, he collapsed against one of the walls, shivering. Their taunts ran in his head, like a chorus to a terrible song.

*…weakling son…*

*…good thing you weren’t born first, no one would ever follow you…*

*…disappointment…*

*…worthless…*

Faramir pounded his hands against the sides of his skull, as though that would somehow help. That word rang again and again in his head, scratching relentlessly at his brain, rooting itself deep in his mind. 

*…worthless…*

*…worthless…*

*…worthless…*

*…worthless…*

His young, naïve mind took their words to heart, drawing conclusions from evidence that didn’t make sense.

*They’re right.* He thought, lifting his head. *They’re right. I am worthless and a disgusting disappointment to everyone.* Faramir understood now, why his father always looked at him with content, or that strange face his tutors would pull if he answered a question incorrectly or missed a shot with his bow. (Both of those things happened far too often for his liking.)

Small, silver tears began to run down his checks and he brushed them away.

*… ah, look. The brat’s crying! Isn’t that just adorable?...*

It was a fruitless effort.

Faramir’s brain scrambled for a way to fix himself, change the flaws that he ‘knew’ where inside of him. He couldn’t try harder, that wouldn’t work… A solution popped into his head and, as he lifted his water-streaked face, he knew what he was to do. A flame started to blaze in his eyes. 

He knew the way he could help everyone else, rid them of having to cart around his worthless self. 

And he knew that he was strong enough to do it. 

…

Boromir was annoyed. He was trying to find his little brother, who had apparently decided that it was a good idea to play a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek. Faramir hadn’t been in the library or any of his other favorite haunts and they had promised each other that they were going to the river after lessons!

He grumbled again under his breath, deciding to go talk to his father’s advisors. Most were nice to him, at least, and would tell him if they had seen the Steward's younger son.

Boromir walked with an elegant step, his wrists crossed behind his back, staring ahead at all times, back ramrod straight. People often said that he acted far beyond his meer eleven years and Boromir silently agreed. Other ten to twelve-year-olds always seemed too immature to him.

But… Faramir… Boromir would tear down Minas Tirith single-handedly, stone-by-stone, just to see him smile. 

The corridor he had chosen to walk in was deserted, and that had been why he had picked it. It gave him time to think, ponder over where his brother could be.  
Honestly, he didn’t understand it! Faramir loved their trips to the river. Not being able to stop smiling the entire time they were there made that fact quite obvious. So why had Boromir’s little brother mysteriously vanished? 

He sighed again, letting the sound drift through the mute halls. Until they suddenly weren’t. Boromir heard heavy booted feet slam into the polished stone. 

Someone was in a hurry. 

Someone was running.

He heard his breath before he saw him and even that was just a blur. A head of ebony hair. Tan skin. Before the figure skidded to a halt in front of him and Boromir looked dead into his earthly eyes.

“Liron.” He breathed, addressing the eight-year-old who he now knew to be Aegliron, son of the Lord Aramdir and late Lady Nirnaethiel. 

“Boromir.” He friend gasped, hands on his knees to support himself. “I need your help.” The steward’s son nodded. He could find his brother later. “It's about Faramir.” Never mind. 

“What about him?” 

“I can’t find him. He didn’t come to archery lessons but his history tutor said that he had left to go there an hour before. He never made it!” 

“That is odd.” Boromir wondered aloud, “He loves archery. Why wouldn’t he go?...”

“I don’t know, but I can’t find him anywhere!” 

“Liron!” He almost shouted, “Calm your breathing. You’re going to make yourself faint.” Aramdir’s son gulped and took a gasp, trying to steady his breath. It evened out soon after.

“Come on,” Boromir said placidly, turning around to walk the other direction. “Let’s check his room.” 

But inside he was panicking. 

He baby brother was missing. 

*Missing.* 

*Missing.*

*Missing. *

The word repeated itself in his mind.

They reached the thin oak door that served as a barrier to Faramir’s room. Boromir knocked softly with the back of his knuckle. No answer. He knocked louder. Not a sound. Sighing, he grasped the handle, muttering,  
“It better not be locked,” under his breath before he jerked the door open. 

They scanned the room. No one. 

But on his desk was a letter that said, ‘To My Brother’. Boromir swallowed hard, took a breath, and opened it before reading the contents.  
He cursed after only a second, dropping the letter onto his brother’s bed and rushing out of the room, leaving a very confused Liron behind. 

The paper was facing up and he turned his head to read it. 

Written in the scrolling penmanship of the six-year-old Faramir, were the words:

‘I am a disgusting mess. I do nothing and hinder everyone. I am leaving now. You will never see me again. It will be better this way.’

His face shone with horror, and he ran after his friend with all haste.


	3. And You're Under Fire (Chapter Title from 'Brother' by *Kodaline*)

Minas Tirith, the 7 of Lothron, in the year 2989 of the Third Age

Boromir ran through the Citadel, he could hear Liron behind him. Under normal circumstances, Boromir would have slowed down, to let the younger boy catch up... But they were not under normal circumstances, his little brother was missing; he had not run away! Boromir refused to think that; no, Faramir was missing, and it was up to him and Liron to find Faramir!

Boromir slowed only when he reached the busier part of the Citadel. Here there were too many servants to avoid. If the servants saw him running through the halls in a panic, they would know that something was wrong. Boromir knew that he could not allow it to get around that his brother was missing. If it became well known, that the younger son of Steward Denethor was missing, then things would go badly Boromir knew: his father would call out the guards and put the city under lockdown until Faramir was found.

It was only when Boromir stopped at the end of a small back hallway, one that led into a much larger corridor, that Liron was able to catch up to him. Boromir checked that the way was clear, before turning to the left; (a direction that would take him to the main gates of the Citadel), seeing that the cost was clear, Boromir continued to run.

By the time Boromir and Liron reached the main courtyard, it was well past midday, and the sun was already beginning to set. The courtyard was empty, save for the two guards that stoned at the gate. The white tree looked sad, and dark as it always did. Water dripping from its branches, which were barren of leaves or flowers, it looked as it always did, a relic of a lost time. *Only when the King comes again will it flower,* Boromir thought as he made his way past the long dead tree.

The guards allowed the two boys to pass, only reminding them to return before the sunset. Boromir was glad that the two men did not ask why he and Liron where leaving the Citadel at such a late hour.

"Where do you think Faramir was planning to go?" Liron asked he sounded as scared as Boromir felt.

"I don't know," Boromir answered; trying to keep his voice even. He knew the if he showed any fear, it would only strength Liron's own. "He might try to go to Dol Amroth, to stay with our uncle..."

"Dol Amroth is too obvious," Liron said. "What about Lebennin, don't you have family there?"

"Yes, we do," Boromir answered. "Our aunt Imbes, that is our father's younger sister is the Lady of Lebennin. We don't know them much at all, as they never come to the City. I think they have 5 children, a boy some years my elder, a girl, another boy of about my own age, and then two girls, but not much more."

"So would it not make sense for Faramir to go to them? I mean they are family... But at the same time not all that obvious." Liron asked.

"What is the fastest way to get to Lebennin?" Boromir asked.

"Down the Anduin by boat." Was Liron's calm answer.

Boromir nodded, "Then I bet that Faramir is hiding by the river, probably in a grove of trees by the docks."

"We then," said Liron. "What are we waiting for?"

Both boys set off at a swift pace towards the city gates, and the Pelennor and beyond.

...

Faramir ran through the tall group of trees, that lay along the northern bank of the Anduin. The small forest was mostly made up of great oak trees that seemed to reach the sky. Other trees included poplars and pines, the pines were dark and foreboding, unlike the poplars which seemed to be light and joyful. The forest was one of light and dark, shadow and sunlight; it was the perfect place for legends to become reality.

Faramir was sweating heavily when he clasped at the base of a tree. The tree in question was an oak, one of the oldest in the forest, it's dark branches spread across the sky like the many arms of some monster out of legend. Yet this tree was defined from the others; for this tree was the home of a Taurosso.

This Taurosso had been watching Faramir for some time, this Taurosso was now greatly interested in the young human. It was rare for a human of any sort to venture this deep into the forest, and of the humans who did come this deep, even fewer were good company. So this sad, and scared young one held great interest for the bored Taurosso.

Well, the bored Taurosso was trying to figure out what to do about the human at the base of his tree; the human in question had calmed down.

Faramir sat up and looked around him for the first time. He knew that he was in the forest by the Anduin, but he had no idea which part of the forest he was in. At that moment, Faramir felt like he was the only thing in the world. But that was only for a moment before the taunts of the other boys came to mind: weakling, disappointment, worthless. Faramir shook his head, desperately trying to make their voices stop.

"Is something wrong, young one?" A kind voice asked. Faramir looked around in fear, not sure who was speaking. He became even more afraid when he was unable to locate the speaker. "Up here, young one." The voice said. "I am sitting on the branch above your head." Faramir looked up, and his gray eyes immediately eyes immediately fell on the strange creature, that was perched on a large tree limb several feet above him.

The creature was only about 5 feet tall, it, or rather he; had silver-blond hair, that was so tangled and dirty that its original color was hardly visible; Faramir noted that a small piece of bramble was caught in it. The creature's clothing was made up of a leather vest over an emerald-colored shirt; The creature's pants were black.

Faramir had no idea what to say or do, never before in all of his short life had he heard of something like this creature. "In fact, you have heard of my kind before," The creature said. "I believe my people are called Maia by both your race and the Elder Children."

"You read minds!" Faramir whispered. Then remembering his manners, Faramir asked: "What is your name, or what might I call you?"

"I do indeed, although I do many other things as well. My name varies much depends on your language: in your Sindarin, I am Celebel, which is 'silver star'; in Quenya, I am the same, only it is said as Telpëelen; also in Sindarin I am Elfara, that is 'star hunter'. I have been called many other things, but those are the names I am best known by, save Elmelmë only, but by that name, I am no longer known. As for what you might call me, you may call me Kel" Answered the Maia.

Faramir was only able to stare, rather improperly at the Maia for a number of minutes, he was just about to ask Kel what he was doing in the forest outside of Minas Tirith, when Kel spoke: "Running away from home is not an answer to your problems Faramir son of Denethor nor will it ever be. When you return to your City I suggest you find a way to work around your problems and find joy."

Faramir was about to protest that he was neither returning to Minas Tirith nor would the other boys testing get better. But before he could speak, Kel leaped from the tree to the ground, and kissed him on the forehead.

Faramir fell forward into Kel's arms, as the sleeping spell took effect. The Maia picked Faramir up, and swiftly set off to return the boy to the City. *I will put this one to bed,* he thought. *Then I will make sure his brother and his friend get back to the Citadel as well. Then maybe I will do something about those bullies, they must learn their lesson.*


	4. I Will Cover You (Chapter Title from 'Brother' by *Kodaline*)

Minas Tirith, the 8 of Lothron, in the year 2989 of the Third Age

When Faramir awoke, he yawned softly, feeling warm and content. It was that observation that jolted him the rest of the way from sleep. The last thing he remembered was fleeing Minas Tirith. Why was he warm? And laying in something soft? He should be in the forest!  
“Shhhush. You’re safe here.” It was Kel’s voice that calmed him and as he opened his eyes, he met the face of the silver-haired being who kneeled beside him. Faramir sat up and glanced around the place he was in. It was amazing. He lay in a bed made from the branches of a tree, inside a hollowed-out one. It had a table, a few chairs, even a window with some spare scraps of fabric covering it to block out the sun’s harsh rays. An open, arch-shaped hole served as the door. It seemed to pulse with a magical beat, like water flowing through the tree, like a heart pumping blood in his veins. It screamed of wonder, of something not of Middle-Earth, something from another corner of Arda.

A normal man might not have noticed it, might have thought that it was just an elaborate home for a Wildman, but with the blood of the Men of Numenor in him, Faramir could tell immediately. It was dizzying and dulled his senses. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized this must be what it feels like to be drunk and then promptly decided to never become drunk. He hated this feeling; he hated knowing that if he tried to stand, he would fall on his face. 

“You’ll get used to it in a moment.” Kel told him, “It is a bit… overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” Faramir just nodded, already feeling his mind adjust. 

“Where are we?” He asked when he could get his tongue to work.

“We are in my home, Faramir, son of Denethor.” It was a strange change, he decided. Minas Tirith was a place of white stone and wide walls, but this place felt… homier. It was odd, yes, but not entirely unwelcome. Faramir was more in touch with his Numenor blood than most others and often felt like his home was suffocating. But Kel’s seemed to give a sense of freedom, and it gave him an elation in his very soul. “Your brother and his friend are down by the river. They grew tired of waiting for you.” *That*, made him freeze.

“M-my br-brother?” 

“Why yes. I led them here while you were still sleeping. They were very distraught.” *They’re better off without me.* Faramir thought.  
“No, they’re not,” Kel replied with conviction and the Gondolorien belatedly remembered that the Maiar could read minds. “You may think that they are, but they are not. I do not bare the gift of Sight, as some of my kin do, but I can tell you without a sliver of doubt in my mind what would happen if your plan had succeeded and you vanished, never to return.” When Kel did not elaborate, Faramir felt his curiosity peak and asked,

“What would happen?”

“You, Faramir, son of Denethor, are the only thing that keeps a smile on your brother’s face. If you had left, he would become cold and hard, like your father. No one would be able to reach him, and he would grow bitter over the years. He would never find fulfillment and live out the rest of his life wondering what he could have done to change things and keep you at his side. Liron, son of Aramdir, on the other hand, would laugh and smile more than ever, but it would all be a façade. His mind would be bleak and weary, and a void would form inside him. He would slowly fade to a shadow of his old self, and the emptiness inside him would spill into his voice. Sometime between the ages of fifteen and twenty, he would murder the leader of the bullies that drove you away and be imprisoned for life.” To Faramir, that sounded a little too specific for not being able to tell the future, but he let it pass. “You are not worthless, Faramir, son of Denethor.” Kel continued in a softer tone, “Do not believe that you are.”

He stood fluidly, body shifting from one position to the next as though he was made of water and turned his gaze out the hole that served as his door. For a moment, Faramir wondered what the Maiar was looking at, but then he heard it. Laughter, rich and clear and strong, like a stern word or the rumble of a thousand boots marching in synchrony. Faramir slunk back against the wall. He would know that laugh anywhere, even if he had not heard it in a thousand years. 

Kel went to the door and threw down a rope, which had been tied to a knot in the tree. Boromir and Liron appeared through it minutes later, faces still split by grins. Those smiles vanished when they saw Faramir awake. 

“Brother,” Boromir said softly, walking over to him. He sat down on the bed beside his brother and wrapped an arm around him. Faramir’s breath stuttered. Even after he’d run away, even after all his failures, his brother really did still love him. “Why?” He all Boromir asked, but Faramir still looked down in shame. 

“I’m… I’m worthless, Boromir.” He murmured, at last, shifting uncomfortably, “I just drag you down.” Boromir face changed to shock in an instant he and wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother, resting his chin of Faramir’s head. 

“No, no, no, no, Faramir. I can’t be me without you. I love you more than every stone in Minas Tirith and you fill every part of me. I will love you forever, I swear it on the name of our forefathers.”

“You… you really mean that?” Boromir just nodded, and his brother started to cry.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” He whispered. Boromir let him. After a while, Kel said,

“You should probably be getting back. And don’t worry, I’ve already dealt with the bullies.” Boromir turned to look at him.

“What did you do?”

“Let’s just say that their hair will be an interesting color for the next six months.” They all had a good laugh at that. The three Gondoloriens left soon after, Faramir telling Kel that he would return soon.

But what Boromir thought the saddest part of the story was, was not that Faramir thought himself worthless, it was that their father hadn’t even noticed they had been gone.


End file.
